#tacky and upsetting

[atopvisenyashill]

dany and rhaenyra really couldn't be more different considering dany grew up in abject poverty and rhaenyra was constantly shielded by her status and name. for dany, her name was a death sentence, so they exist in totally different frameworks of what being a “targaryen” even means. it’s this vast difference in upbringing that informs how they rule as well with daenerys giving a lot of attention to how her actions/rule affect the oppressed while rhaenyra doesn’t particularly care about the common people at all!

I'm gonna do what we do at work which is start this out with a lil ground rules corporate talk thing: We assume positive intent as a starting place. I'm taking this in good faith and I hope if anon sees this, they take it the same.

So the first point - that because dany grows up in poverty due to being a targaryen and rhaenyra grows up in privilege due to being a targaryen, that means they are too different and thus can't be compared. Firstly, I think it's just a bit silly when people say stuff like this. Sansa's sexual abuse and isolation at KL isn't somehow less traumatizing simply because she had access to food (food she frequently doesn't eat, because she's traumatized over all the sexual abuse!) nor is Arya's physical abuse in the Riverlands somehow less purely because she had a handful of friends. Catelyn having a husband that loves and respects her doesn't mean that there are not similarities in her raging against the system that has turned on her with Cersei's own rage against the system. There need not be a one to one similarity in order for us to find commonalities in themes and I think this constant "you can't compare those two" just stinks of ~oppression olympics~ but oppression just doesn't work like a checklist and if you experience the required threshold of terror, you "get" to call yourself oppressed in some way.

Moving on, the thing is, both of them experience the emotional and sexual incestuous grooming from an older relative that goes with being a Targaryen:

He pushed back her shoulders with his hands. “Let them see that you have a woman’s shape now.” His fingers brushed lightly over her budding breasts and tightened on a nipple. “You will not fail me tonight. If you do, it will go hard for you. You don’t want to wake the dragon, do you?” His fingers twisted her, the pinch cruelly hard through the rough fabric of her tunic. “Do you?” he repeated.

Daemon spent long hours in her company, enthralling her with tales of his journeys and battles. He gave her pearls and silks and books and a jade tiara said once to have belonged to the Empress of Leng, read poems to her, dined with her, hawked with her, sailed with her, entertained her by making mock of the greens at court, the “lickspittles” fawning over Queen Alicent and her children. He praised her beauty, declaring her to be the fairest maid in all the Seven Kingdoms. Uncle and niece began to fly together almost daily, racing Syrax against Caraxes to Dragonstone and back...Eustace, the less salacious of the two, writes that Prince Daemon seduced his niece the princess and claimed her maidenhood...The whole tale soon came out, in no small part thanks to Mushroom himself. King Viserys at first refused to believe a word of it, until Prince Daemon confirmed the tale was true. “Give the girl to me to wife,” he purportedly told his brother. “Who else would take her now?”

both of them also experience a much older sworn sword preying on their youth and fondness for him-

"What did she look like, your Lady Lynesse?" Ser Jorah smiled sadly. "Why, she looked a bit like you, Daenerys." He bowed low. "Sleep well, my queen." Dany shivered, and pulled the lionskin tight about her. She looked like me. It explained much that she had not truly understood. He wants me, she realized. He loves me as he loved her, not as a knight loves his queen but as a man loves a woman. She tried to imagine herself in Ser Jorah's arms, kissing him, pleasuring him, letting him enter her. It was no good. When she closed her eyes, his face kept changing into Drogo's.

Though many lords and knights sought her favor, the princess had eyes only for Ser Criston Cole, the young champion of the Kingsguard and her constant companion. “Ser Criston protects the princess from her enemies, but who protects the princess from Ser Criston?” Queen Alicent asked one day at court... However it happened, whether the princess scorned the knight or he her, from that day forward the love that Ser Criston Cole had formerly borne for Rhaenyra Targaryen turned to loathing and disdain, and the man who had hitherto been the princess’s constant companion and champion became the most bitter of her foes.

they are both forced into marriages they don’t want to be in-

Dany looked at Khal Drogo. His face was hard and cruel, his eyes as cold and dark as onyx. Her brother hurt her sometimes, when she woke the dragon, but he did not frighten her the way this man frightened her. “I don’t want to be his queen,” she heard herself say in a small, thin voice. “Please, please, Viserys, I don’t want to, I want to go home.”

"No." On her terrace, in her bathing pool, the little fish would nibble at her legs as she soaked. Even they kissed with more fervor than Hizdahr zo Loraq. "I do not love you."

And though His Grace reasoned with her, pleaded with her, shouted at her, and called her an ungrateful daughter, no words of his could budge her…until the king brought up the question of succession. What a king had done, a king could undo, Viserys pointed out. She would wed as he commanded, or he would make her half-brother Aegon his heir in place of her. At this the princess’s will gave way. Septon Eustace says she fell at her father’s knees and begged for his forgiveness, Mushroom that she spat in her father’s face, but both agree that in the end she consented to be married.

and start conflating violence, power, and safety in their minds-

The princess was not slow in answering this charge. She dispatched Prince Daemon to seize Ser Vaemond, had his head removed, and fed his carcass to her dragon, Syrax.

“He would make a monster of me,” she whispered, “a butcher queen.” But then she thought of Drogon far away, and the dragons in the pit. There is blood on my hands too, and on my heart. We are not so different, Daario and I. We are both monsters.

you say for dany her name is a death sentence, but for rhaenyra, being a targaryen is also a death sentence! not to "they very much killed jesus" you here, but they very much kill rhaenyra! if rhaenyra remains a “good targaryen” she is acutely aware she will lose everything, and this is something dany is aware of as well, it's why she reacts so badly to daario's "queens have no purpose but to warm some king’s bed and pop out sons for him" comment about her marriage to Hizdahr. rhaenyra's mother and both grandmothers die before they’re 25 of childbirth. rhaenyra grew up in the same court gael did, that saera did, that viserra did, likely knew the truth of what happened to each girl, and as a woman who is concealing her bastards, all of that has to terrify her. so she stays the “bad woman” the tyrant, the whore, the visenya, in an attempt to protect her children and that gets her killed. being a targaryen has devastating effects on both of them.

as for the differences in how they rule - i’m gonna be honest and say does it matter how they feel if the result is the same?

when they first come into true power, both women are more concerned with getting revenge than they are for settling the unrest-

“How many?” one old woman had asked, sobbing. “How many must you have to spare us?” “One hundred and sixty-three,” she answered. She had them nailed to wooden posts around the plaza, each man pointing at the next. The anger was fierce and hot inside her when she gave the command; it made her feel like an avenging dragon.

...whilst at the Red Keep Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen set about rewarding her friends and inflicting savage punishments on those who had served her half-brother...Henceforth, Celtigar decreed, traitors, rebels, and murderers would be beheaded within the Dragonpit, and their corpses fed to the queen’s dragons. All were welcome to bear witness to the fate that awaited evil men, but each must pay three pennies at the gates to be admitted.

both of them compromise on a stance that is integral to their whole platform-

Dany was shocked. “They want to be slaves?” “The ones who come are well spoken and gently born, sweet queen. Such slaves are prized. In the Free Cities they will be tutors, scribes, bed slaves, even healers and priests. They will sleep in soft beds, eat rich foods, and dwell in manses. Here they have lost all, and live in fear and squalor.” “I see.” Perhaps it was not so shocking, if these tales of Astapor were true. Dany thought a moment. “Any man who wishes to sell himself into slavery may do so. Or woman.” She raised a hand. “But they may not sell their children, nor a man his wife.” “In Astapor the city took a tenth part of the price, each time a slave changed hands,” Missandei told her. “We’ll do the same,” Dany decided. Wars were won with gold as much as swords. “A tenth part. In gold or silver coin, or ivory. Meereen has no need of saffron, cloves, or zorse hides.”

But the Queen’s Hand argued against this, for both girls had younger brothers. Rhaenyra’s own claim to the Iron Throne was a special case, the Sea Snake insisted; her father had named her as his heir. Lords Rosby and Stokeworth had done no such thing. Disinheriting their sons in favor of their daughters would overturn centuries of law and precedent, and call into question the rights of scores of other lords throughout Westeros whose own claims might be seen as inferior to those of elder sisters. It was fear of losing the support of such lords, Munkun asserts in True Telling, that led the queen to decide in favor of Lord Corlys rather than Prince Daemon.

both of them act vindictively and violently towards a low born woman in conjunction with stupid behavior from the violent men they’ve been groomed into loving-

Forgive me, sun of my life, she thought. Forgive me for all I have done and all I must do. I paid the price, my star, but it was too high, too high… “I thank you, Mirri Maz Duur,” she said, “for the lessons you have taught me.” “You will not hear me scream,” Mirri responded as the oil dripped from her hair and soaked her clothing. “I will,” Dany said, “but it is not your screams I want, only your life. I remember what you told me. Only death can pay for life.”

In a voice as cold as ice, she commanded Ser Luthor Largent to take twenty gold cloaks to the Dragonpit and arrest Ser Addam Velaryon. “Question him sharply, and we will learn if he is true or false, beyond a doubt.” As to the girl Nettles, “She is a common thing, with the stink of sorcery upon her,” the queen declared. “My prince would ne’er lay with such a low creature. You need only look at her to know she has no drop of dragon’s blood in her. It was with spells that she bound a dragon to her, and she has done the same with my lord husband.”

and I do think there is some similarity in the way that Dany sacks Astapor and it turns into a nightmareish ruin, and Rhaenyra lets KL fall into ruin as well.

you say rhaenyra doesn’t care about the common people but we don’t get her thoughts nor do we get the thoughts of a single person who is willing to tell the truth about her. both of our reliable sources hate her and mushroom is actively concealing things. we know dany cares about the smallfolk because we get her horror over drogon killing a child - only for her to forget that child’s name and decide the cost of her war doesn’t matter so much as taking her throne. this is the exact same moral justification rhaenyra is making - the safety of the people of KL are an acceptable compromise for her own throne.

what both of them want is less about the crown and more about what it represents to them. for dany, it’s home, belonging, love, safety, the simplicity of her life when it was just her, a viserys who had yet to lose his mind, and an aging ser willem darry. for rhaenyra, it’s the exact same - the simplicity of her life before aegon was born & her mother died, the love in her father choosing her over the men around him, the safety of her children. Both of them reach for violence to achieve those ends because they’ve been taught through a life of violence - albeit different sorts of violence - that force is the only way to protect yourself. And since Rhaenyra ultimately fails in her goal, I believe Daenerys will fail as well. Whether she’s smart enough to pull a Nettles and disappear (disappear not spread more violence ~liberating~ places that are not asking for her help or cultural arrogance) or if she, like Rhaenyra, will find that when she’s reached her limit, when she’s finally and truly lost, the door she thought she left open to escape through has been slammed shut behind her-

But it was not the plains Dany saw then. It was King's Landing and the great Red Keep that Aegon the Conqueror had built. It was Dragonstone where she had been born. In her mind's eye they burned with a thousand lights, a fire blazing in every window. In her mind's eye, all the doors were red.

[deadrlngers]

the fact that gortash has a perfect balance between moral lacking tyrant and whimsy tacky man. That is why he bewitched me

[arolesbianism]

I Really need to properly draw Christopher at some point but everytime I want to I just look at her in game sprite and weep for her truest form has already been achieved. What's even the point. This is her in the flesh.

[cxffee-addxct]

🏠

[gyumazing]

"Wanna See?"

Basically, it was your finals week. Riki came over acting all upset because you were 'ignoring' him.

A/N: wrote this for less than an hour (hence the reason why it is a bit tacky) because I was bored and I am having post exam anxiety. This was very fun to write (I got second hand embarrassment while writing lmao).

Pairings: Nishimura Riki × Reader

Genre: Fluff × Suggestive

TW: Mentions of male genital. Low-key cat and dog dynamics.

“Bruh! Come here! Stop acting like a mysterious hermit.” you said, dragging your sulking boyfriend into the frame of your iPad's front camera.

It was a regular Tuesday night before your last finals exam, and your clingy-ass boyfriend decided to pop up unannounced in the dead of night under the guise of bringing you dinner. In reality? He just missed you and needed attention. Study session? Absolutely wrecked by whiny Riki in his signature black cargo pants and navy green hoodie.

“Why did you even come over if you're gonna act like a bish.” You rolled your eyes at him as he continued to refuse a selfie, his ever-deepening frown matching your own. You even tried sneakily inching your iPad toward him, but this man dodged like his life depended on it—like that 12MP lens was a sniper scope.

Then he yanked you by the waist and buried his face into your neck. You're not sure if it was a tactic to hide his face or if he was just being extra clingy, but either way—it was annoying. You shoved his face away.

“What’s your problem?!” he whined, his brows still furrowed like a grumpy cat.

You squinted. “No. What is your problem?!” you shot back, swatting his hands away. “I was peacefully studying and then you waltzed in, started acting like a toddler, and now I can't even take one cute pic of us?!” you hissed, teeth clenched.

In true demon form, Ni-ki bit your neck mid-sentence, earning a sharp curse mixed with his name.

“No. What is your problem?!” he repeated, this time with trembling lips and a suspiciously emotional tone. “I’ll be on tour for three months, and you didn’t even bother messaging or calling me!” His voice cracked. “If I didn’t come over tonight, I bet you wouldn’t even care even if I got eaten by wolves!”

You groaned like it was your final breath.

“And now you suddenly want to take a cute picture like you didn’t ghost me all week and act like I was some delivery guy when I arrived!” he huffed, biting your neck again.

“STOP THAT!” you shrieked and pushed his face off like you were warding off a vampire.

“I was going to visit you after my exams!” you snapped, mirroring his dramatic energy.

He hugged your waist tighter, now clinging like a koala.

“But that’s just one day before I leave! That’s not enough! Not freaking enough!” he argued like a pouty kid denied candy. “And where’s my kiss, huh? You didn’t even look at me when I walked in!”

At this point, you weren’t sure if you were dating a guy or babysitting a 6-foot-tall, sentient tantrum. You glared at him.

“I was reviewing, you dumbass!” you growled, grabbing his chin forcefully to face the camera. He grumbled out a protest, but before he could escape again, you smashed your lips onto his and furiously pressed the shutter button.

His gasp of surprise gave you the perfect opening to slip your tongue in. Just for science, of course. The pathetic little whimper he let out in response almost made you short-circuit. He gripped the back of your head, tilted slightly, and tried to suck your soul out like his life depended on it.

You pulled back after a few seconds, breathless and wide-eyed.

And there he was—Nishimura Riki, the cool boy with maximum aura (his words, not yours), tomato red and staring at the wall like it held the answers to the universe. He avoided your gaze and opened his mouth slightly like he was gonna say something profound... then he dragged you into his lap and hid his face in your neck again.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Bro, what the hell?”

He looked up, dead serious.

“I am not your bro.” And just like that, he faceplanted into your neck again. "Say that again I'm gonna smack you." He threatens.

You were about to roast him, about to suggest calling him 'sis' instead, but then—you felt it.

Your eyes went wide. You froze.

You suddenly felt something... poking you from below.

Now you were the one frozen, eyes wide in absolute horror.

You sat stiffly on his lap for a few seconds, every neuron in your brain screaming at once.

To confirm your worst suspicion, you discreetly shifted your hips—just the tiniest bit. But the moment you did—

“Hnghh…”

Riki moaned.

His hands gripped your waist tighter, and it felt like your entire soul just jumped out of your body and hit a backflip midair.

You panicked. Hard.

"What are you doing, baby?" he asked, dazed, his voice breathy and sinful and entirely too casual for what was happening.

You panicked even harder.

"Bro, your dick is poking me!" you blurted out with a nervous chuckle, trying—failing—to downplay the absolute meltdown happening inside your brain.

You and Ni-ki had been together for years. You’ve done a lot of questionable stuff—made out in cars, in hallways, even in the middle of a study session—but this? This was new. This was dangerous territory.

Ni-ki, now redder than a stop sign, didn’t look away. His eyes were glued to yours.

"That’s your fault…" he muttered with a dramatic little whine.

You slowly grabbed his wrists and tried to peel his hands off you so you could escape this abomination of a moment—

But the universe said no.

Riki held you back firmly, unintentionally pressing you down back against the very thing you were trying to flee from. And for the love of God, the sound you just squeaked was enough to make your souls burn in the pits of hell.

It sounded so womanly: It sounded nothing like you've ever sounded before.

Mortified, you shoved Riki back onto the couch like you were performing an exorcism and scrambled away, flailing like a fish out of holy water.

You made the sign of the cross with your arms, eyes wide like you’d seen Satan himself.

Riki blinked at you, clearly confused—then he started laughing.

“Devil be gone!” you screamed at him, still backing away like he had the plague.

“What?” he laughed through his red face. “It’s a normal bodily reaction, love. Don’t worry about it too much.” He tried to reassure you with flushed cheeks and zero shame.

You scooted farther like he had uncured demonic possession. “Get that ginormous thing away from me!” you yelped.

Ni-ki smirked, clearly entertained. But thankfully, he respected your space and stayed where he was.

“Ginormous?” he repeated, the grin on his face slowly evolving into the grin of a man whose ego just grew five sizes.

You nodded frantically. Big mistake.

His grin got even wider. "It's a perfectly manageable size, baby. Wanna see?"

“NOPE!” You squealed, hands flapping as you turned tail and ran straight to your room, slamming the door and locking it like you were under siege.

“Darn you, Nishimura Riki!” you shouted from behind the door, face buried in your pillow in defeat.

And from the other side, his smug little voice:

“You said ginormous.”

____

I luv him sm hehehe

[bloomiize]

i'll be watching

pairing → jay x yn

warnings → smut, THERES A PLOT KINDA, stalking behaviour, he is OBSESSED, hes still a """"gentleman""", dom jay, fem reader, dubcon, reader gets drunk, coercion

wc: ~3.5k

synopsis → One smile was all it took. The moment your eyes glanced at him, he knew. Jay had already found your full name, your age, where you worked, and exactly where you lived. You just didn’t know you loved him yet and that's okay. He was going to make sure you felt it, too.

You were always quiet, minding your own business and in your own world. It was peaceful, unbothered and drama-free. Juggling a full course load and working at the cafe, you didn't have the time to care about all the guys who tried to get your attention. A compliment here and there, maybe a little note slip on the counter with a phone number on it.

"I have work."

"This assignment is due tomorrow."

"My schedule is packed for this weekend."

You say over and over again. Some would nod their heads understandingly and leave. Others got upset, accusing you of being a tease, wasting their time. But it was always the truth. You just didn’t care to date. It wasn’t a priority. Never was.

The cafe became a soft space for you, and it was a routine you enjoyed. Coffee, latte, baked goods and the warm hum of happy customers filled your days when you weren't busy daydreaming or studying.

"Hi! What can I get you?" You asked, voice light and shining with infinite possibilities. The greeting rolling off your tongue like a script. You didn’t glance up this time, opting to refill the cupcake stand that was being sold at a pace faster than you could keep up with.

"Coffee. Black." The voice was low. Rushed, like he didn’t want to be here longer than necessary.

You finally looked up, and what a sight it was.

Neat, dark hair. Sharp features that didn't look real. His hands fiddling with— what looks to be— an expensive watch. He didn’t look like the usual customers who came in between classes or after lectures. He looked out of place. Cold, quiet and probably had way too much money.

Then he looked up, staring right at you.

You gave him a warm smile, polite and practiced— the same one you offered to every customer. But his gaze didn’t soften. It stayed locked on yours, curious, unwavering, like he could see past the surface. Like he was trying to figure something out about you that even you didn’t know yet.

When you called out his order, he grabbed it from the counter and left with a quick "Thank you" slipping from his lips. What an interesting guy, wasn't he? And you continued your shift, forgetting all about the strange man. But he never forgot about you.

Jay hated cafes.

Overpriced coffee. Pretentious menus. The same recycled “minimalist” aesthetic with fake plants and Instagrammable drinks that tasted like burnt water and regret. He took his coffee seriously—dark, rich, and brewed with precision. Not watered down through shit using a machine that's probably already rusting.

But today was different.

His morning meeting had been moved earlier without notice, and he didn’t have time to grind the beans himself, didn’t get to hear the satisfying sound of it being poured, didn’t get to take that first quiet sip in the dark comfort of his kitchen. Instead, he was running late. Annoyed. And in desperate need of caffeine.

What a waste, he thought bitterly, eyes scanning the ugly brown exterior of a small cafe on the corner. The obnoxious chalkboard screamed “OPEN!” and jutted out onto the sidewalk like it was begging for attention. Tacky.

Still, he stepped inside, the little chime above the door making his eye twitch. The place was warm, smelled faintly of cinnamon and espresso. Surprisingly, he didn't find bright lights or fake plants or Instagrammable murals. He joined the short line, checking his watch every few seconds.

This better be quick.

He was already thinking about how he’d never let Heeseung schedule his meetings again when something shifted.

A voice.

“Hi! What can I get you?”

You.

The barista behind the counter.

Eyes that shimmered with something— curiosity? Joy? Maybe it was just the reflection of the morning sun, but it caught him off guard. You had a warm smile, a soft voice that was so effortlessly kind it almost irritated him. No fake chipper tone. No forced customer service greeting. You looked real.

His mouth moved before he could think. “Coffee. Black.”

And for the first time that morning, he thought about something other than killing Heeseung.

He kept visiting after that. The cup you made him didn't taste disgusting, he was pleasantly surprised. But it wasn’t the coffee that brought him back the next day. Or the day after that. At first, he sat by the window, pretending to scroll through emails or read a news article. Something to excuse the fact that he hadn’t taken a single sip of the drink cooling beside him.

He was watching you.

The way you tied your apron without thinking, the way you tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear when you were focused on something. The soft laugh you gave when your coworker said something stupid. It annoyed him how much of your attention everyone else got.

So he listened.

He learned that your favourite pastry was the chocolate croissant, that you hated oat milk, and that you were taking some brutal university class you always complained about on Mondays. He would do all your work for you if it meant you never had to lift a finger. Anything for you to smile.

He learned you only worked mornings on weekdays and full days on weekends. He picked up the rhythm of your schedule with unsettling ease, pretending as if it were his own. Jay started telling his assistant he'd be working remotely more often—from home, he said. But home wasn’t his apartment anymore. It was the window seat at the café.

Your café.

It was a calm morning, he was still watching— still listening. As he sat at his usual corner table pretending to answer emails, he heard your name.

"Y/N, can you grab another box of lids from the back?"

Y/N. It echoed in his head like a siren's curse.

His fingers twitched around his cup. How could your coworker say something so sacred without a care in the world? It annoyed him. But that was all he needed; Jay had a name now. A real one. The moment he heard it, something settled deep in his chest. Like he unlocked a new level. As if knowing it gave him some invisible thread that tied you to him—whether you realized it or not. You let him know your name.

You hadn’t looked at him since that first day. You didn’t remember him. He was just another customer, a regular who always ordered a black coffee. You smiled politely like you did to everyone else. That irked him more than he expected. How could you show that to everyone? It was only supposed to be for him.

But it was okay. He was patient. He'd wait for you forever.

You didn’t know you were his yet. But you would eventually, he’d make sure of it.

You were already running late to class—your shift had dragged longer than expected, and your manager needed help with the register changeover. You said yes, of course. You always did.

Then the kid happened.

Sugar-high, giggling, and sticky-handed, he barreled straight into you as you stepped out from behind the counter. Your drink slipped from your fingers, crashing against your front, staining your white t-shirt in a swirl of espresso and foam. You laughed it off with his mom as she scolded him for being a handful, apologizing profusely while dabbing at your clothes with napkins.

Back in the kitchen, you tried scrubbing it out with soap and water, but the mess clung to the fabric like it belonged there. You were soaked. And the coffee smell followed you like a curse. You had ten minutes to make it to your lecture, barely enough time to breathe, let alone run home and change.

You stepped out of the café with your head down, already mentally preparing your apology for walking into class late and causing a scene. Suddenly, you hit something solid. No, not something. Someone.

You stumbled, arms flailing slightly as the impact caught you off guard, but before you could trip, two hands grabbed your arms. Steady. Warm. Strong.

A chest. Broad. A body, hard with muscle beneath his shirt. It was hard not to stare for a bit.

“Careful,” a low voice murmured above you.

You looked up. One of the regulars at the cafe— Jack? Jake? Jay? His name was something along those lines. His eyes flicked down to your soaked top, his brows pinched together, like he was in pain. How odd.

You scrambled for words. "I'm so sorry!" you blurted, looking up and meeting his gaze with wide, apologetic eyes. That nearly killed him.

"Your next cup is on me, but I really have to go! Point me out next time at the counter," You say, embarrassment taking over your face. You back up, getting ready to sprint across campus.

He almost let you go. Almost.

“Do you… need a sweater?” he called after you, his voice lower, more careful. “For the stain. On your shirt.”

Suddenly, you're standing in front of him and he's taking off his sweater. A neat navy blue quarter zip, as he lifted it over his head, you got a glimpse of his midriff. Tone, perfectly sculpted abs. You ripped your gaze away, masking the awkward silence with a cough. He handed it to you with care and told you to keep it.

"I'll give it back next time i see you I swear!" You said running off waving at him with a smiling. There it was, that smile. Only for him.

He replayed the moment multiple times in his head. How you smelled of vanilla and dark roast. How you felt so warm and soft, his mind often wondered if you would feel the same under him. Jay palmed his dick night after night. How your shirt clung so tightly to your chest. He could see everything. And the way you smiled at him had him unravelling on his sheets. Moving up and down, breathlessly saying your name like a chant.

Life was a blur— assignments, lectures, shifts— and the sweater ended up in your closet. You wore it to work the next week, not thinking twice. At the cafe, Jay stood in line ahead of you. He turned, eyes landing on the sweater, a slow smile spreading. “So, you’re still wearing it.”

You spew out apologies and explanations but he let out a chuckle. Low. Deep. It vibrated in you.

“Keep it,” he laughed. “Looks like it’s yours now.” His gaze lingered. “Let me take you out, I'm sure you're tired of coffee by now.” His tone was light, but his eyes were focused on you. He was handsome, kind, and you basically stole his sweater, this was the least you could do to make up for it.

“Sure,” you smiled and wrote your number on his cup with a small smiley face beside it.

That date turned into hours of talking. Jay was funny, attentive, remembering tiny details like your love for plants and how you refused to allow any fake ones in the cafe, fighting the manager if you had to. You didn’t know he’d studied you online, memorizing your posts, your likes, the plushy bear you’d mentioned wanting. He knew you more than you knew yourself.

The second date was perfect: a park walk, dinner at a cozy bistro. The third was a movie night at your place, laughing together with his arm around you. He never crossed a line unless you wanted him to, always checking if you're okay with whatever he's doing, whether it be a hug or a light kiss on your lips. Jay was a nice guy; he would never do anything weird, maybe that's why you were so comfortable with him. He liked everything you liked. He listened to you rant about your professors and classmates. It was like he was made for you.

By the fourth, you knew you liked him. Jay was perfect—he opened doors, never let you pay, always drove you home and walked you back to your door. When he handed you the plush bear you’d mentioned offhandedly weeks ago, your eyes lit up.

“You remembered,” you beamed, pulling it into your arms.

“Of course I did,” he said, watching you like you hung the stars.

You didn’t notice the glint in the bear’s right eye, a tiny lens tucked behind the button. He wanted to keep seeing you smile. Even when you thought you were alone.

At night, when you changed, he was there, on his screen, heart racing. Jay sat in his darkened apartment, the laptop screen casting a sickly glow across his face. The plushy’s camera feed showed you in your room, taking off your shirt after a long day. His breath caught, uneven, as you unhooked your bra, your breasts spilling free, soft and perfect under the lamp’s dim light. He licked his lips, imagining his tongue swirling over your nipples, sucking hard until they pebbled, leaving wet trails and purple marks across your chest. He wanted to bite, to claim every inch of you.

“God, Y/N,” he growled, voice thick with lust, leaning so close his nose nearly brushed the screen. If he stuck out his tongue he could taste it, he could taste you. His eyes devoured you—your delicate collarbone, the maddening curve of your waist, the way your hair draped over your shoulder like an invitation for him to hold your hair up. His hand was already in his pants, gripping himself, the ache unbearable, so needy. Your body was a fucking altar, and he was a starving worshipper.

He groaned as you bent to grab a tee, your breasts swaying slightly, the view sending a violent jolt through him. His strokes were frantic now, sloppy, his palm slick with precum. He pictured pinning you to the bed, spreading you open, licking every curve until you screamed his name. The thought of anyone else seeing you—your classmates, those café creeps—made his gut fill up with rage. “Mine, mine, mine,” he gasped, hips bucking as he came, hot and messy, splattering across his hand. He panted, eyes still locked on you slipping into bed, oblivious, his perfect obsession.

He wiped himself off, breath uneven, knowing you curl up with the plushy. His plushy. His eyes. He’d never let you go.

Jay invited you to his place for dinner, and you couldn’t say no. His apartment was stunning—sleek, modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. The table was set with candles, a spread of homemade pasta, and a bottle of red wine. “You cook?” you teased, impressed and honoured.

“Only for you, angel,” he said, pouring you a generous glass. His smile was warm, but his eyes burned with something darker, a need. He kept refilling your glass, his hand lingering on yours. “You deserve to take a break, Y/N. You work so hard.” He cooed.

The wine hit fast, warming your limbs, clouding your thoughts. Jay was charming, leaning close, his smile growing bigger. You giggled, head fuzzy, his voice smooth and low as he talked. By the third glass, the room tilted, your cheeks flushed, your body uncontrollable. He moved to the couch, patting the spot beside him. “Come here love.” “You’re so… nice, Jay,” you mumbled, head lolling slightly, cheeks flushed. By the fourth glass, the room spun, your body heavy, limbs loose. Guilt clawed at you—he’d done so much, the dinner, the plushy, the sweater. You owed him, didn’t you? 

You stumbled, and he pulled you into his lap. His scent wrapped around you, intoxicating. He looked at you like you were his everything, and it felt too good, too warm, even as a faint voice screamed to leave. His hand slid to your thigh, squeezing, inching under your skirt. “You’re so pretty like this,” he murmured, voice thick. “All soft and sweet, just for me.”

“Jay, I… I’m really drunk,” you slurred, trying to push his hand away, but your fingers were clumsy. Your head felt like clouds, the wine drowning out your senses. “Maybe I should… go home.”

“Shh, angel,” he cooed, fingers tightening, ignoring your weak protest. “You can’t leave me after all this, can you? You’re my special girl tonight.” His eyes locked on yours, intense, needy. “You trust me, don’t you? I’ve been so good to you.” 

Guilt twisted harder. He had been good—perfect, even. The sweater, the bear, the way he always showed up at the cafe with a smile. He was so kind and caring, always attentive to your needs. He never pushed any lines; you owed him this, right? Just this once. “Okay..” you whispered, voice small, embarrassed, your body betraying you as his touch sent shocks through you.

“Good girl,” he said, kissing you deeply, his tongue and yours mixing perfectly, tasting the wine off your lips. He pushed you back on the couch, hands roaming all over you, tugging off your clothes with a rapid pace. “So fucking cute,” he murmured, unhooking your bra, lips grazing your collarbone. He smiled, sliding your skirt up, fingers hooking into your panties and pulling them down. “Look at you,” he whispered, playing with your folds, finding you slick despite your confusion. “So wet for me, aren’t you? And you wanted to go home like this?” He circled your clit slowly, teasing, watching you squirm. “Yeah? You like that?”

“S’good,” you slurred, hips twitching, embarrassed but unable to stop the heat building in you. His praise felt like a drug—cute, perfect, his angel.

“Aw,” he teased, slipping two fingers inside, pumping gently, his thumb on your clit. “Do you think of me when you wear my sweater?” he asked, voice low, eyes glinting as if he didn’t already know the answer. He’s watched you do it countless times by now.

“Y-Yes,” you admitted, voice shaky, picturing the cozy navy quarter-zip and how many times you’ve touched yourself while wearing it. He groaned, fingers curling. “So dirty,” he whispered, voice thick with approval. “My dirty little angel, thinking of me like that.” He moved faster, but when you whimpered, close to the edge, he stopped, pulling his fingers out, licking them clean while staring at you. “Not yet. I want to play with you longer.”

You whined, needy, head too foggy to argue, the alcohol was making everything feel lighter. “Jay, please,” you begged, barely coherent.

“Patience,” he chuckled, spreading your thighs wider. He didn’t wait long, his need overtook him. He shoved his pants down, freeing his cock, thick and heavy, the size making your eyes widen even through the drunken haze. “Jay, wait,” you slurred, panic flickering. “It’s… too big.”

“It’ll fit angel, it’ll fit,” he soothed, voice dripping with false gentleness, his hand rubbing your stomach as he lined himself up. “I’ll make it fit.” He pushed in, slow but relentless, stretching you, the burn making you cry out. You were wet, dripping even, yet he was still too big. “Hurts,” you whimpered, hands pushing weakly at his chest.

“I know, love,” he murmured, kissing your forehead, his hand pressing your stomach, feeling the bulge where he filled you. “You’re taking me so well. My perfect fuckdoll.” He thrust slowly, savouring your whines, each whimper and gasp fueling him. “So cute like this, whimpering for me,” You were gone. Your head was dizzy and all you could do was moan his name out, gripping onto him like he could save you.

You clutched his shoulders, nails digging in, your head lolling as the pain mixed with pleasure. “Too much,” you’re slurring, but your body arched into him, betraying you.

“You’re doing so good,” he said, thrusting deeper, still slow, watching the bulge in your stomach move. “My perfect girl, letting me have you like this. You owe me this, don’t you? After everything I’ve done for you.” His words sank into your drunken mind. You really did owe Jay everything. You nod barely understanding, just wanting to please him.

“That’s my girl,” he praised, picking up the pace slightly, his hand stroking your hair. “You feel so good, Y/N. Made for me.” He groaned, voice tightening. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

You blinked, a flicker of clarity cutting through the fog. “Jay… condom?” you mumbled weakly, too drunk to care fully, the question more curiosity than concern.

“Shh, love, it’s okay,” he whispered, hand cupping your cheek, thrusting harder. “We’re gonna have such a good family. I’ll take care of you, always.” His hips snapped forward, and he came, hot and thick robes flooded inside you, groaning into your neck as he filled you, no hesitation. Like he planned this.

You whimpered, too fucked out and drunk to process, your body limp beneath him. He held you close, kissing your forehead, murmuring, “My perfect girl. You did so good.” You drifted off in his arms while he cleaned you up. What a gentleman.

a/n: jay being devious is my new favourite thing I fear... anyways I HOPE YOU ENJOYED! sorry for not posting for a bit I've been super busy so let me yap for a bit. i started my summer courses KILL ME and I just started my new job YAY! I have wayyy too many drafts rn LOL pls lmk what you think! comments and reblogs are appreciated I LOVE YOU GUYS! <3

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[wholemeallbread]

"valentines." kaiser unceremoniously announces as he tosses a box over your lap. "open it up." he coaxed, sitting down next to you.

a smirk immediately graces your lips as your attention shifts over to him, putting your phone down. "how romantic, disturbing my peace and quiet like this." you tease.

"we're going on a date later, so what's the issue?" dismissal as always, but you know he's equally as playful. his legs cross as he leans on one of his palms, eyeing you intently.

well, what are you waiting for? you open up the box, expecting a simple necklace or pair of earrings, but no. it's a chunky bracelet, filled with charms of alternating colours – blue for him, pink for you. "oh?" you coo, picking up the delicate accessory as you glance at him. "i thought you weren't a fan of tacky jewellery, hm? what happened to that?"

"but you, unfortunately, do." a sigh leaves his lips. "don't you think keeping you happy has more importance than my personal preference? or do you think that lowly of me?"

"sorry, sorry." you mumble, though quite happy in nature, and you take the time to inspect and admire your new gift. around the back, or what was supposed to be the front, it's got a tiny letter nestled right in the middle. "it's got an m on it!"

"for me, obviously." he lifts his hand, raking his fingers through his hair with his tattoo-free hand, and simultaneously showing off his matching bracelet.

you gasp, another wave of excitement washing over you as you realise he's wearing one despite his dislike for this kind of jewellery. he's wearing it for you. and he's got your initial hanging from his wrist.

"you got one too!" you exclaim with joy. kaiser wasn't a touchy person and you knew that, but you just couldn't hold back, crashing into him with a big hug. how could he be upset at you for that?

he can only smile, a hand coming to your lower back and rubbing over your skin. "i love you." he mumurs lowly in your ear.

@kaisentine this was supposed to be a lot shorter but um yeah

[ln4z]

but it's the way you smile that does it for me [ 18+ ]

praise, praise, praise, praise!!! team principal!oscar, age gap is not specificed — upto the reader's imagination, mentions of reader having daddy issues

thinking about team principal!oscar know you like the back of his hand. he knows that a pout will form on your lips if the hospitality doesn't have chocolate milk from a particular brand. he knows that you're gonna smile and giggle when he sprays you with champange after winning. he knows that you're gonna sulk about p4. he knows that you sometime get quiet after races not because you're tired or upset but because the world was too loud and you need to be in your space.

just like now. you won the race, smiled on the podium, giggled exactly the way you do when he sprayed you with champagne. but in your driver's room you were oddly—uncharacteristically quite.

"what's with you?" he says taking the seat on the couch in your driver's room. you already showered and changed into to a brown halter neck top paired with mini white tennis skirt. "what do you mean?" you raised a brow wearing the 81 necklace—the same number he raced for years ago now lies with you. fans think the 81 is for you. but in reality it's about both of you.

"you're quiet." he quipped. "i'm always like that." you continued to pack your suitcase—not sparring a galnce at him. "come here." he said. baffled, when you ignored his call. "i'm talking to you. come here." it was a stricter tone this time. in a tone he knew you would listen. it implied — don't bullshit me right now.

and obviously, obviously you trotted over. letting him place you in lap. his arm immediately snaked behind your bare back like a muscle memory. "talk to me darling, what happened?" and he was back, using the tender tone he always used with you. oscar brushed a strand of your hair out of your face.

"i don't like how the race went." your voice was low—almost ashamed—as you played with the rings on his fingers to avoid eye contact.

"but you won it." he pointed out."i know." you sighed. "but i just don't like how he had to help me to win the race. i can do it in my own." referencing about how 'he' as in your temmate had to put pressure on another driver to stop him from catching up so that you could pull away.

oscar have no idea where—the entire "winning is first place, everything else is loosing" mentality—it comes from. probably from trying to claw your way up into motorsports as a woman. but all he knew was that he had to undo all that mentality etched in you. even if takes all his life.

so his heart breaks a little when you say "i can do it on my own." warm and painfully young doe eyes looking up at him desprate to prove yourself. desperately trying to say, "i am good—please believe me."

"o'my darling." he mumbled against your head. "you don't need to prove that to anyone—specially me." he whispered, voice dipping into something impossibly soft. with your head tucked into the crook of his neck, lips sticky with lip gloss pulled into a pout. oscar could feel the wet faint tacky print near his collarbone. your perfume smelled like trouble—a flirty, powdery floral that always made his head spin.

that damn halter barely holds together behind your neck, the knot sitting pretty just under his jaw as you breathes. and he hates it.no—he loves it.he tilted your chin up with his free hand, forcing you to meet his gaze. "you're a natural on the track, and nothing, not even a little help from your teammate, can change that. you're strong, you're smart, and you're bloody fast. believe in yourself, sweetheart." and that was true. before anything—or anyone—oscar noticed your talent. not your face, your speech, your background, the sway of your hips—nothing, just your pure talent behind the wheel.

"you've earned every bit of that victory," he murmured, his hand sliding down onto your thighs. "you're the one behind the wheel, making the decisions, pushing the car to its limits. no one can take that away from you." he kissed your temple. "and well can you stop moving?" you couldn't help but laugh at his request. "are you really getting horny while trying to comfort me?" you chuckled at the absurdity of the situation. "i'm a man at the end of the day no?" he smirked—somewhat glad that the pout was wiped off of your face.

"can i?" your breath hitched as his hand slipped, under the hem of your skirt. "yeah." you nodded before relaxing into his touch—legs parting slightly. "you know, you earned every inch of that win." he breathed, his voice a low growl. "your skill, your determination—no one can take that away from you." fingers finding the edge of your underwear, tracing the line of them gently, and you shivered in anticipation.

"osc." you whispered as his thumb stroked the sensitive skin. you were wet, and you knew he could feel it. "you're so beautiful when you drive," he said, his voice thick with want. "the way you handle the car, the way you take control . . . it's mesmerizing." his fingers dancing around the your underwear — such a tease, driving you crazy with need.

"you're the best thing that's ever happened to this team" he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. "and you do it all on your own. you're not just a pretty face, you're the heart of it all." he pushed aside the fabric, his fingertips grazing the slick warmth. you gasped, arching into his touch.

your breathed hitched—eyes closing in pleasure. his fingers moved with purpose. his thumb found your clit and began to circle—his praises a sweet serendae that made your hips rock against his hand. "this is all yours. this team, me—all yours and your only." he murmured, sliding two fingers inside you, feeling you tighten around him. his breath hot against your skin as he watched yor face contort with pleasure.

your moans grew louder—panting more desperate, as his fingers worked their magic. "you're not just a pretty face. you're a champion. and you're all mine." his teeth grazing your earlobe sent shivers down your spine. oscar knew your orgasm was close. the way your hands cluthes his team-branded polo, the way you arched into him, the way your thighs threatened to shut.

oscar added another finger—all three curling into the right places. it was just a matter of time before his hand was stained with your insides and slick. you could feel your orgasm building—the familiar knot tightening in your core. his words, his touch, it all melded into one overwhelming sensation.

"you're so strong and all mine" he murmured, his fingers sliding in and out of you, his thumb pressing rhythmically on your clit. "so, so strong." your breathe grew heavy as your body began to tremble. "come for me, sweetheart. show me how much you've earned it."

and you complied—orgasm crashing over you like a wave, body shuddering in his embrace. you buried your face in his chest, muffling your voices as you rode out the pleasure. as you came down from your high, oscar held you tight, his hand still resting between yout legs. "you're incredible," he murmured, kissing the top of your head. "and get it drilled into that pretty head of yours yeah? because i don't wanna such crap about ever again—specially from you of all people." his tone was stricter now, almost reprimanding.

"osc." you pouted. "can you not use that tone? you remind me of my father." you added. oscar couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of him. "i was so gentle and yet you accuse me of sounding like your father?" a teasing smirk stretched onto his lips. "excuse me! you need to thank him. if it wasn't for him giving me daddy issues i wouldn't be here—all over you." well, you both ended up laughing at your words.

"mhmm, well i suppose i gotta thank him for two things you and your daddy issues." he kissed your forehead. "i didn't get traumatized for you to make fun of me." you shook your head—all in fun zest.

god, all the points, the materialistic lust—everything be dammed as long as he got you in his arms, all smiling, happy & and content.

[anneonomus]

trying to decorate my first non student apartment and learning in real time that i have bad taste xbsksbsksba

[tackyandupsetting]

Gloss vinyl stickers for Ermsy

The Simpsons holds the record for the longest-running scripted primetime television series in the U.S., having first premiered on December 17, 1989. As of now, the show has aired over 700 episodes. 

For more information on the different types of materials I offer and the stickers I can create for you, feel free to get in touch!

[cherspastries]

Cher!! I love your writing and you aesthetic so much :)

You’re a graphic designer yeah? What driver do you think would work well with a graphic designer reader, and on that note, what occupation do you think each driver’s s/o would have?

And do you do emoji anons? 👀 If so can I be 🫧?

I LOVE HER AS SHE IS,

DOING HER THING!

WORK IT!

2025 Grid x Reader

SUMMARY 𐙚 What jobs I think each driver’s girlfriend would have + how you first met.

WARNINGS 𐙚 Fluff, reader is described with feminine terms, mentions of alcohol / handling alcohol, not proofread

WORD COUNT 𐙚 6.3K

A/N 𐙚 Hi!! Tysm I love my theme, and yes I do accept emoji anons! Hello 🫧 !! Also, before I actually write, I love all the WAGs and respect their jobs, but I wanted to romanticize this a bit so… All the drivers are getting hypothetical new girlfriends with weird and interesting occupations and personalities

DIRECTORY | MASTERLIST | REQUESTS: OPEN

RedBull ෆ

Max Verstappen

Bartender

You cannot convince me this man isn’t always in need of a drink. Whether he’s celebrating or he’s upset, Max likes a good gin and tonic. Sure, he can make his own, but nobody makes it as good as his lovely girlfriend: a bartender. That’s right! He met you at a club in Monaco, of course. It was after he had won a grand prix, and he kept coming back for more and more alcohol until he was blackout drunk. You had to call him a cab home, and he kept mumbling about how beautiful and perfect you were. When he came back to retrieve his lost phone the next day, he apologized and properly asked you out.

But it’s also nice because Max’s favorite way to relax with you is to lay across the couch, drink in hand, and watching a show you both enjoy. He doesn’t want to overwork you, but if you offer to whip something up real fast, he’s definitely not going to say no to your hard work and encourage you to keep doing what you love. Side note, I genuinely think he loves being able to party at the club you work at. He loves getting to enjoy a night out, but also being able to visit you whenever he wants. His friends have stopped wondering where he’s ran off to after they found out who was behind the bar. They shouldn’t be surprised when he disappears every five minutes to go chat you up again. Sometimes regular patrons give him dirty looks because they think he’s hitting on you inappropriately, but then you flash the matching set of rings and they simmer down.

Yuki Tsunoda

Seamstress

I’ll be honest, I was unsure about this one, but I honestly think it makes a lot of sense. Yuki has really good style, so I had a feeling his partner should be related to fashion. However, seamstress was a bit of a stretch. I think you’d make a lot of clothes for him, which is why he has such great style to begin with. He’s wearing handmade, high quality patchwork hoodies and jeans and shoes that you decorated yourself, all made by you! So yeah, whenever someone compliments his very fitting form of fashion, he lets you know that the people are certainly admiring your work. Do we all remember when the internet went crazy over Yuki wearing his RedBull shirt unbuttoned? Yeah. All you.

He first met you when you were still just a fan. Some might argue the dynamic seems inappropriate, but you were never a huge fan of him specifically. Just… An F1 fan. You sewed shirts for the RedBull team, and they weren’t the typical tacky wear that the team usually received. These had lots of thought and enthusiasm put into them— He could only imagine how hard and how long you have slaved away making those, so he wore it with pride… Even if it was a tad bit too big. After that, he kept seeing you in the paddock, communicating with various engineers and drivers, collecting autographs like it was your job. He complimented your work, you introduced yourself, and the rest was history. So yeah, you ended up falling for the irresistible charm of Yuki Tsunoda, and honestly who can blame you?

Mercedes ෆ

George Russell

Graphic designer

Yes, okay. This is my line of work, and I honestly believe George would be the most supportive for a graphic designer out of everyone. I mean, he at least thinks he knows fashion and technology, so he assumes that he’s being helpful. I can see the two of you being high school sweethearts that pursued different paths, but stuck together. Of course you knew George was into racing at the time, because he was karting even back then, but you never expected him to reach such fame. He even managed to get to a job with the FIA, designing graphics for winners and podiums and such, so yeah. People have been silently appreciating your work for years. You’re the one who gets to see all the unused winner graphics.

Whenever you’re working on a project, you consult George. Even though half the time you don’t listen to his advice, it’s nice to get somebody else’s opinion and support. You know he’ll be honest instead of giving you that “it’s perfect the way it is” bullshit, so his unfiltered opinion is just what you need to get a sense of what the right direction might be. He used to sugarcoat it, but you eventually told him that his honesty wouldn’t hurt your feelings, and he started to be more open. Not that it was rude, because his opinions were still helpful and polite! He always tops it off with a kiss and a wish of good luck. He knows you’ll make the right decision.

Kimi Antonelli

Tutor

Alright. We all have fun joking about Kimi needing a math tutor, but what if he doesn’t. Because his girlfriend is one. You know? You’re still in school, just like him, so you make a lot of money by people paying you to help them out in classes. Yes, Kimi needs a nerd girlfriend I feel it in my SOUL. Now, contrary to popular belief, you actually don’t tutor him. Why? Because he gets distracted by you very easily. He can’t stop looking at your pretty eyes, your plump lips, and your soft hair. All he wants is to bury his face in your neck and lay on top of you 24/7/365, because you’re so soft and warm. So no, you don’t tutor him. You can’t tutor him. You’ve tried. You’ve failed.

He brings you to the Imola Grand Prix, happily showing you off and introducing you to all of his track mates with that huge boyish grin. He tells them all that you’re just his tutor, and that afterwards you’ll be in his drivers room teaching him the pythagorean theorem (which he doesn’t even know how to pronounce in any language, mind you, so he’s just stumbling over syllables to get the idea out.) You correct him and politely let them know you’re actually his girlfriend. They all tease him, insisting that this whole story was just an excuse to sneak you into his room for a cheeky make out session, which you both quickly deny with flushed cheeks and slight stutters. Looks like he’s been caught before he could even try.

Ferrari ෆ

Charles Leclerc

Fashion designer

Now this isn’t to say that Charles doesn’t already have good fashion sense, because he definitely does. However, I do think that after the two of you started dating, there was a noticeable change in his choices. He started to dress in a manner that was suitable to his… Well, everything. He had custom made clothes with logos pertaining to him on them, everything matched his face and body shape, and he was dressed to an absolute T. All thanks to you! He doesn’t even have to ask, you just quietly sketch up designs for jackets and shirts that he can proudly show off at races, and you’ve even helped him customize merch that is both affordable, and fits the aesthetic of most of his fans. Goodbye trashy t-shirts with a logo lazily slapped on, and hello well thought out designs.

You were definitely hired to design some of his merch after the team saw your concept sketches. He was completely clueless to your arrival, but once he saw you he knew there was something irresistible that surrounded you. Your aura was undeniably attractive, and you were a genius when it came to your job. Of course. He loved your sense of fashion, so Charles discreetly asked you out to go get coffee and discuss things some more. Except, the two of you ended up talking and laughing the entire time, so of course you had to reschedule. And then you had to reschedule again because the same thing happened. Then finally you realized what he was doing, and asked him out on an official date. From then on, he proudly showed you off as his girlfriend. No more hiding!

Lewis Hamilton

Makeup artist

Yes, both of the Ferrari boys have their fashion girlfriends. I think if they existed in the same universe they’d be really good friends, too. I think Lewis loves to listen to you rant about different qualities of makeup, and how different makeups can affect break-outs on skin, and how to prevent all that. There’s a lot that goes into your line of work, and he never gets tired of hearing it. I think his favorite thing is hearing you talk about different color palettes and how you decide what colors suit a client best. You’ve definitely done similar things on him, and he stays true to your advice and tries to mix those colors in to his outfits. He also refuses to hire anyone but you to do his makeup for events, and he brings you everywhere he can. Trust that you were attached at the hip during the Met Gala, and that he was announcing to everyone he met that you did his makeup, and how talented you are. Watch out because you’re gonna have so many clients coming your way.

Unlike Charles and his girlfriend, you were not hired to work for him when you met. It was actually more of a meet cute— He was asking for advice in your local beauty shop, because he figured you looked like you knew what you were doing and could tell him what the correct shade of blush was for his niece, who was clinging to his side. You were in awe because holy shit, the Lewis Hamilton was asking you for advice, which you gave while stammering to an embarrassing extent. He thanked you, and asked for your number with the excuse that he might need more advice in the future. You did not hesitate to give it to him, and while he didn’t call for advice, he did call to ask you out properly. Your dynamic is very much so “girlfriend who knows a lot about fashion and boyfriend who pretends not to so he can hear her ramble.”

McLaren ෆ

Oscar Piastri

Food critic

Oh yes, the two of you are most certainly bonding over a shared love of food. Oscar Piastri doesn’t present himself as a foodie, but it’s more of a hidden pleasure of his. I won’t lie, when you first mentioned your occupation he thought it was somewhat funny. Reviewing food for a living seemed like something simple. He took it at the base level ideation and assumed that’s all it was. However, when you got really invested with talking about it, Oscar was quick to learn there was so much more. You discussed about different types of recipes, and methods when it came to baking. You ranted about cuts of meat and how each one had its own taste. With your influence, he quickly became quite the enthusiast himself. So, every time you guys went to a restaurant, you both ordered something entirely new to compare and contrast to past dishes. It was fun getting to try new things with you.

When you first met, it was in a restaurant. One of those crowded places where you ended up shoulder to shoulder with a random stranger because of how busy it was. For you, that random stranger ended up being famous racer Oscar Piastri. Although it was awkward at first, you sparked up soft chatter about the meal. He told you he was having the same thing he always did: pasta. You explained your meal, which was exotic to the both of you. When you expressed your disinterest in the taste he teasingly asked what made you so qualified to comment on such a thing. That’s what he found out. Intrigued by your charm, and your passion for all things food, Oscar couldn’t help but ask for your number.

Lando Norris

Teacher

Lando, in my firm opinion, is fantastic with children. He’s a little immature himself, which gives him that natural charm that makes getting along with children easy. He has no troubles throwing on that enthusiastic tone that lights their brains up. One morning in particular, Lando’s dear friend Max had a huge favor to ask of him: Take Penelope to school. Kelly was out for work, and he was running a high fever, which meant ‘Uncle Lala’ was on duty for the day. Admittedly she was a little late, and she showed up with a smoothie from Lando’s favorite coffee shop and a brand new pair of shoes. While he’s good with kids, he’s terrible at saying no. He walked the young girl into her classroom, and he damn near lost his mind. You were perfect— radiant, kind, soft-spoken but not timid. The dream girl that mirrored him perfectly. Even though you playfully scolded them both for being late, all he could focus on was how beautiful you were.

From that day forward, Lando made it painfully clear that something was up. He offered nearly everyday to take Penelope to school, which Max and Kelly would not complain about. She always returned with a huge grin on her face, recommending that her uncle take her again because he was so fun. However, when she started talking about the flirty comments he’d exchange with her teacher, they realized why he was suddenly taking an interest in the life of their child. Lando loves hearing about your day and listening to the various interactions between the kids in your class. He’s smitten with you and your ability to flawlessly interact with children— Unfortunately this means your relationship is destined to be filled with baby fever from you both. 24/7.

Aston Martin ෆ

Fernando Alonso

Wedding planner

As expected, you meet at the wedding of a mutual friend. You planned everything from the venue to the number of flowers in each arrangement, and both the bride and groom were eternally grateful for your help. It was always much easier to have someone else do a majority of the planning for you while you got to sit back and nod along to every suggestion made. In short, your efforts paid off immensely. When you sat down at your assigned table, you were surprised to see the Spanish man in question not far behind you. He seated himself across from you, reaching a hand out to shake yours politely. He was charming right off the bat, his flirty comments flowing with ease. You almost wondered if you were intentionally set up to sit beside this guy, because your fun-loving personalities matched up nicely. He matched your vibe and you matched his.

Now you were going 20 years strong, each anniversary celebrated more profound than the last. You were teased nonstop by friends and friends of friends about the lack of a ring on your finger. “Twenty years and he still hasn’t made it permanent?” was something you heard more often than you were willing to admit, but in all honesty, neither of you were interested in the concept of marriage. Your love was all you needed to seal the deal. You didn’t require a fancy ring to know that. But finally, after years and years of waiting, Fernando dropped down to one knee to give you the opportunity to finally plan your own damn wedding, and you happily accepted. You harbored no anger towards his decision to wait, because ultimately it made the experience a lot more special. You finally got to be on the other end of things and understand firsthand why people hire you to begin with: Planning your own wedding is not all it cracks up to be.

Lance Stroll

Author

Lance needs the peace and quiet that an author girlfriend brings to his life. He’s a well known introvert, which has yet to go unnoticed by anyone that he’s met. Lance prefers to keep to himself, and tends to distance from individuals who are overly loud. While opposites tend to attract, such an ideal is not the case for this fellow. He dreams of a romantically quiet life, and you’re there to fulfill that for him. You meet in the most cliche spot possible: a library. He’s not even that big on reading, but the spot was quiet and it gave him an excuse to brood in a corner and listen to music. You happened to be doing a book signing that day, which made the joint just a tad bit louder than he would have liked. However, when he saw you sitting at a table with a line extending outside the door, a cute smile on your face… Lance was utterly captivated. Your voice was low, your smiles were awkward, and your hands were trembling. Maybe it was weird, but that was everything he yearned for and more. When people started to clear and you started to pack up, he made a move.

Safe to say that said move was successful. The early stages of the relationship were less than ideal with both of you waiting on the other person to initiate every single thing, but finally you warmed up to each other and fell into a comfortable rhythm with your everyday lives. He cherished the days where he came home from loud engines and bustling crowds to the soft clicking of your keyboard, and the occasional flipping of pages. At the end of the day, no matter how stressful things get, Lance will always be grateful for the safety of your warm embrace as you hold him close to you at night. You’re his rock and his anchor, keeping him safe from the extroverts of the world. The media finds the two of you to be the ideal celebrity couple. Matching aesthetics, personalities, and beliefs. Your relationship is private, but it’s far from a secret!

Alpine ෆ

Pierre Gasly

Social media manager

I thought I was funny for this. You’re not a very good manager, because you’re always sitting there beside him, giggling at every post he scrolls by that’s related to him. With that being said, you always reach out and double tap the screen, liking whatever stupid thing had you guys giggling to begin with. So, to the people who wonder why Pierre is always liking every F1 related post, it’s actually your doing. You’re less focused on your actual job, and more on whatever content other people have managed to come up with. It’s really funny, in your defense. You guys first met because you were hired as the Alpine social media manager, but you always ended up laughing just a tad bit too much with Pierre over your ridiculous ideas that he kept building on to. Half the time you barely were able to execute said ideas, and ended up going with something entirely different.

Pierre loves that he found someone to match his energy and be okay with his teasing, along with tease him back. You’re fun— sometimes even more fun than him. Everyone in the paddock would agree. He loves filming videos and taking pictures with you for social media pages, and he loves even more than you get a little bit more freedom with his personal account and have directly spiced up all of his most recent content. Pierre fans have been wondering why most of his stuff has been a lot more enjoyable. Little do they know, you’re quietly working your magic behind the screen. Sorry Pierre, you get no credit. Although, having a hilarious muse does make it much easier.

Franco Colapinto

Florist

With this little flirt, knowing a lot about flowers actually proves to have some value. Franco’s always going out of his way to impress you: fact. He loves bringing home flowers, especially after triple headers, or just generally weekends that felt extra long without you right there beside him. It’s a new bouquet every time. While it is handpicked and arranged by him, it’s safe to say that Franco actually has no clue what he’s doing; his decisions are based off the initial beauty level of the flower. But, we can’t rule out that he intentionally picks randomly, because he does seem to love hearing you lecture him about flower language. He’s got roses being romantic burnt into his memory, but he can’t quite remember that yellow carnations are supposed to mean rejection. He does remember your face the day you brought them home, though, so he decides based on that. You sounded so sad as you explained the initial idea, and Franco was quick to make something up. So now, you guys decided they meant the love of Franco Colapinto— Yeah. He got his own damn flower.

You, as expected, had a meet cute as well. It came straight from a tacky hallmark movie. You had simply been arranging your outdoor stand one day, when a particularly fast biker flew by, clipping the edge of your stand and sending flowers flying through the air. You were devastated to see your hard work flying through the air and drifting away from you. Thankfully, one kind passerby stopped to help you pick up the lost work. He was handsome in his own, unique way. Somewhat familiar, you were sure. He laughed with you as he helped you set things back up, dropping a few flirtatious remarks that had your cheeks growing increasingly warm. It wasn’t until he dropped a joke related to racing that you picked up on it and breathed out a rather distressed, “Oh my God you’re Franco Colapinto!” He barked out a laugh and nodded to confirm your suspicions. He insisted you take his number. You know, just in case you need help dealing with a runaway biker again. It had nothing to do with the fact he thought you were the most beautiful person alive. No, no way.

Williams ෆ

Carlos Sainz

Baker

Get this man a beautiful baker girlfriend who can make him all the sweets in the world. No, but I did have a thought process for this. First date, he still doesn’t quite know that you’re a professional baker, so he’s going on and on about his incredibly pancake recipe when you mention that it’s your favorite breakfast food. You have a recipe of your own, of course, but you’re intrigued by the way he seems so cocky with said recipe, so you let him make you some when you visit him. And honestly, they’re really quite good! You’re considering replacing your own recipe. You repay his kind offer by baking him sweets— and I mean you really got busy in that kitchen, because you’re probably about to hand over 10 large containers full of sweets with flushed ears that tell him everything he needs to know. He’s a little embarrassed that he was ranting about his tasty pancakes to someone who makes them professionally, but he was happy to hear you sincerely liked them.

Now imagine Carlos’ embarrassment when he recounts how the two of you met to begin with. After a long night, he stopped by a local café to pick up a pick-me-up. You were there, but you weren’t behind the counter. You were standing off to the side, leaning over it as you chatted to the barista with a cup of coffee in hand. He approached the register, and you both paused your conversation so said barista could assist him. When Carlos pondered on a dessert from the display case, you very casually suggested that he take a croissant with that ‘trust me’ sort of vibe. He teases you— asks you what makes you a master of breakfast pastries, and you just shrug nonchalantly and tell him that maybe you have ‘insider’ information. He assumes you’re a regular by now, and accepts your suggestion. He gets the croissant. And your number. And a first date… And the embarrassment of finding out way too late into your relationship that you’re the damn baker for the café. That was your insider info.

Alex Albon

Veterinarian

The more obvious choice, yes. While I was afraid this might be too on the nose, I think it makes a lot of sense, really. He has a lot of pets. What does a guy with a lot of pets often do? He takes them to the vet. Alex already takes great care of his pets, so this visit was a little out of the ordinary. His cat had fallen ill, and he needed to get the proper medicine to care for her. But there was you, the newest hire at the clinic who seemed so good with his pet. You gave her treats to keep her distracted as you checked her out, ensuring the man that this was just a common sickness and would pass, but if he wanted he could slip some allergy medicine into her food next time. He was forever grateful. But then, suddenly his pets were falling injured or ill left and right. A man who rarely visited the vet was now becoming a regular, always coming up with some sort of concern. “Doesn’t her leg look weird?” “Nope, looks good to me.” You eventually caught on, and told him that at a vet clinic there was no rules against dating clientele. Now, there was rules against dating patients, but that was because your patients were animals.

He works well with your nonchalant charm. You’re easygoing and laidback, and that’s just what Alex needs. He appreciates having someone he can chill with because his life is often so chaotic that it’s hard for him to take time for himself. Therefore, he has you now. Plus it’s always nice to no longer have to visit the vet when you can now just stop by his house for a quick check up. It becomes even easier when you move in with him, because instead of being worried he can just rely on you to tell him when things are wrong and need to be taken more seriously. All in all, he found an absolute keeper, and the internet won’t stop encouraging him to put a ring on it to ensure nobody else does. Although, not sure anyone needs a veterinarian quite like Alex Albon does. So, I think he’s safe for now.

Visa Cash App Racing Bulls ෆ

Liam Lawson

Actress

I like to think you actually met when filming the F1 movie. You’re a background support character in the film, and Liam was just there to play himself, much like all the other drivers. You two managed to bump into each other, and it seemed like day to day conversations started to take place. You’d share a joke you heard while standing behind him at the coffee making station, or catch him up on the latest set gossip in passing. He was charmed by your wit, and you were charmed by the way he cluelessly fumbled over words around you. Imagine how surprised he was when you asked him out. He felt somewhat disappointed because he had been hoping to have that honor for himself, but he was glad that you reciprocated his feelings.

I think Liam with an actress girlfriend just makes sense anyway. He’s all for the drama you bring to the table, and loves watching every single film you star in, whether it’s a big or small role. He’ll go to every premiere, red carpet, and gala you’re invited to as your plus one. Not only does he love to show his support, but he also realized early on that he gets to meet a lot of his own idols this way. You have lots of connections, and he now has a stack of autographs from famous celebrities at home. It’s a win-win.

Isack Hadjar

Photographer

Your first time meeting Isack was actually a little chaotic. The team hired you to shoot some shots from the first practice on Friday. It was experimental, because it was their first time hiring you, and it was your first time working for a huge company, let alone shooting athletic shots. When it started raining, you hadn’t even noticed. You were so focused on capturing everything perfectly, and with the right settings, that eventually you were completely drenched without a care in the world. It was really down pouring. Subsequently, teams were pulled in from the nasty weather to dry off and warm up. You, however, were still perched in the stands out in the rain, laser focused on your camera. Isack, ever the gentleman, came out with an umbrella and held it over your head. You hadn’t even realized he was there until you felt his shadow cast over you. You looked up, and nearly dropped your camera. You were stuttering all like “Oh- It’s- Oh no, it’s you- Gah, I’m so sorry!” Which only confused him more. You explained you were meant to be taking shots of his team today, but all the ones you got were bad. You were better with portraits. He was stunned by you too. You were beautiful, even with your wet hair plastered to your face and your clothes soaking wet. So, with red cheeks himself, he invited you in to take some portraits, which would hopefully give you a chance at staying with the team. And you did! Which then gave him enough time to work up enough courage to make a move.

You’re a little scatterbrained, it’s true. Every-time you come to the paddock, you’re in a panic as you ramble about how you accidentally left your SD card at home in your laptop, and that your whole reason for coming was now ruined because you didn’t have a way to take photos. Isack reassured you that missing one race wouldn’t be the end of the world. Besides, he ended up finding your SD card in your purse when you asked him to grab your phone. You’re lucky to have found him, because he certainly helps keep you grounded. You’d probably have floated off into space without Isack there to hold you down and keep you steady.

Kick Sauber ෆ

Nico Hülkenberg

Sommelier

You were evidently flawless at your job. You knew everything there was to know about wine, and all of its pairings with food. It was an elegant and refined drink to be saved for fancy events, much like the one you met your beloved at. Your relationship has been in the making for about three years now, and despite its… Awkward start, the two of you have been developing nicely. There was an event for F1 drivers hosted at a vineyard, and you were hired to take care of the wine: a rather simple job. Famous people weren’t a surprise to you anymore, but as you were sharing with your audience the history behind the drink you picked out, you felt your breath leave your body in an untimely manner. That was when he walked in, stealing away your attention. Salt and pepper stubble, a lazy smile, and an appearance that screamed ‘just woke up from a nap in the sun’ in the most endearing way possible. You, a normally charming and easygoing woman, were caught off guard and ended up muttering something stupid like “this wine is… fermented” followed by a nervous laugh, which cued your audience to chuckle along with you.

He teased you later. Of course he did, because how could he not notice the way you’d freeze as you quietly eyed him. When you were setting up glasses, he approached from behind, and you immediately turned around at the sound of his voice, which consequently sent one of the glasses flying. Nico, a man trained in his reflexes, caught it with ease that made your heart flutter. Thank God you managed to snatch him up, because nobody had ever made you feel such a way. It didn’t matter if he didn’t win on the track, because everyday he came home to the most beautiful woman possible, who’d shower him with lots of well deserved love. Plus, you always knew what wine would suit his mood. Yeah. He made the correct choice.

Gabriel Bortoleto

Streamer

We know how brain-rotted Gabriel is. You can’t tell me he doesn’t have a favorite streamer too. It’s you. Before you guys started dating he was a fan. He found your unique commentary on games to be interesting and the way you played— yada yada. Truth be told, he just thought you were pretty and funny. He even suggested through donations (under a secret account name, mind you) that you play one of the F1 games. With the money you earned from the donation, you bought it and showed the whole world just how awful you were. Gabriel secretly messaged you on instagram, claiming he had just found you when you were playing F1 24, and would love to come properly teach you how to play on stream. You agreed, of course. And it was a success. After the cameras turned off, he shyly admitted that he had actually been a fan of yours for awhile, because he felt bad for deceiving you. You just thought it was cute, and offered him the opportunity to come back if he so wanted.

Now, Gabi is a frequent feature on your streams. Not necessarily just as your partner in multiplayer games, but he can be seen on your face cam. Maybe he’s sleeping in the background, or he just happens to pass by. Sometimes he’ll even come give you a kiss in front of thousands of viewers, acting like he forgot you were streaming when in reality it was done intentionally. Sneaky bastard. Your fans love him, but Gabriel also loves to remind them that you’re a happily taken girl. You don’t mind anyway. It’s nice to see your longterm fanboy staking his claim in a way he thinks is secretive. Trust that you know… You always know what he’s up to. There’s no hiding it. Don’t be surprised if he starts spamming your chat with italian brainrot. Imagine having to explain to newcomers that it’s a regular thing, too.

Haas ෆ

Oliver Bearman

Artist

This is a pair nobody expected, to be honest. The Haas team was directed by PR to show up to an art event. Apparently the establishment was sponsoring them for the next race, and it was the polite thing to do. Oliver didn’t really care— He wasn’t a fan of PR events and media. He was outgoing and charming, but he tended to keep his life private for the most part. But he was glad he went, because when he saw you on a shaky ladder hammering in a stubborn nail with frustration, he knew you were someone to keep him on his toes. You had on overalls covered in paint. Some was fresh, but most of it seemed deeply imbedded in the fabric, like you wore them just to get them dirty. Your arms, too, were covered in colors. It was quite the sight. When you saw him, you dropped your hammer. Right on your foot, and then it tumbled down the ladder to fall unceremoniously on the ground. You hissed as you descended the ladder, jittery with excitement. You greeted him with a very enthusiastic handshake, announcing how you didn’t think he’d show up. You kept rambling, and he kept listening. Eventually you asked him if he could sit still, and he said yes, to which you replied with, “I wanna sketch you, then. You have this beautiful angelic vibe and I need that.” So, if that’s not forward I’m not sure what is.

It’s true. You’re his joy, and he’s your muse. And, for what it’s worth, Ollie was right. You certainly do keep him on his toes because he never really knows what’s next with you. You’re vibrant and fun and you love nature— The stereotypical small town girl who falls madly in love with a city boy. You like to run through tall grass barefoot and paint in the middle of giant fields whatever your heart desires, and now you’re dating Oliver Bearman. But it’s a good thing, because you both have changed each other in the best way possible, and even though you’re so different, you work harmoniously in a healthy relationship. You’re both happier than you’ve ever been, truly.

Esteban Ocon

Model

This man is TALL. He needs a tall girlfriend to sit by his side, and that just so happens to be you. You met at a huge gala for F1, where various other celebrities were invited to bring more attention to the sport. You’ve always been a fan, so you were glad to have the opportunity to meet a lot of the people you had admired for so many years. One of those people was Esteban Ocon. He was hated by his own community, regarded as one of the least likable people around, but you saw through that. This was a sweet guy with a bad reputation over one incident that took place many years ago. He was a bit surprised when you intentionally sat down beside him and introduced yourself with a huge smile and a delicate handshake. You were beautiful. It was almost too good to be true. He couldn’t let go of an opportunity like this, so he clung to you the entire night and asked if you’d be willing to see him again. Of course you would.

He supports your career through and through. He admires your skill, and all the thought that goes into modeling. It’s truly impressive. In turn, you support his racing career. You frequently feature his races, and while you do try to avoid the cameras, it’s impossible to not be featured when reacting on occasion. You have a loving dynamic— almost the perfect couple, and everyone in the paddock knows it. You’re the type of people to solve every disagreement by calmly talking it out. You’re the type of people to live by the rule “never go to bed angry.” You both get bad reps. In his community’s mind, Esteban is cruel and vicious and impossible to like. In your community’s mind, you’re stuck up and bossy and rude. So, together you make a perfectly misunderstood pair that understands one another. Delightful, right?

[kedreeva]

One of the things that upsets me with mouse care is the amount of powdered chow at the bottom of a big 50# bag of chow. A normal bag from Kent or Kalmbach leaves me with around 5-10lbs of powder. That's a huge loss that the mice won't eat in this form.

Some of the slightly bigger chunks, like that one on the bottom right, I could probably sift out. I do my best to run the powder through a wire that catches MOST of the lumps that won't just pass through the holes in their food hoppers. But at the end of the day, I'm still left with a huge amount of powder that's perfectly edible and yet will not be eaten.

I started saving it at the end of last year, to make into biscuits for the mice. I put a couple pounds into a big mixing bowl, and cover it with water to soak for about 15 minutes. Then I mix that all together. It should be wet enough it mostly clings together, but is still dry enough it crumbles. Then I add some kind of mix-in: honey, maple syrup, applesauce, peanut butter, fruit juice, some kind of puree of vegetables/fruits they can have, herbs, dried mealworms, ground graham crackers, seeds, chopped nuts... it's been a lot of things over the last year.

once that's thoroughly combined, I add water a little at a time until the mixture is the consistency of a loose bread dough- wet enough to cling together and be shaped, not so wet that it slumps into a puddle if not touched.

I use a biscuit cutter to cut little flat circles, maybe 2 inches across. I put them on trays in the dehydrator, and leave them to dry for a couple days.

These have ALL been a great hit, every flavor. They're also a little harder than normal pellet chow, they don't crumble apart to the same degree, so they make a great feed for the mice that chew a little more than others, if left unflavored or lightly flavored. It's also a good way to give them a little variety! I can make several flavors even in one batch, I just separate into different bowls.

This time, I dimpled the tops of the biscuits, and added some homemade, low-sugar strawberry jam. It should dry out as well, to the consistency of fruit leather, which I think they'll like.

The jam has gotten tacky, so not too much longer I think.

[cheetabites]

☆彡 peppers pt 2 ˳༄꠶

character: hwang in ho / 001 / the frontman

˳༄꠶ summary: five sfw and nsfw general headcannons for the frontman

sfw headcannons

★ as he proceeded as the front man, he acquired a fascination with betrayal within the games. it basically reinforced the belief that humanity would always choose the best for themselves despite the sacrifice of others, and deep down i think he gets off by watching the players kill each other

★ in some way he feels a bit bad for the players who vote to go home. he’s seen the process over and over again and knows that greed outweighs self-sufficiency and compassion for others; for him, these deaths aren’t as enjoyable to watch

★ he hates others that victimize themselves. it leaves him both simultaneously angry and stressed, because what do you mean you’re upset with the situation you got yourself into?

★ when he’s not in the games (as a player), the hierarchy and rules that he has for the staff is much stricter. he doesn’t allow barbarity; like guards threatening each other, fighting, or attempting to take advantage of another person. while he chooses to take players in and make them fight to win, he still has a moral compass

★ he HATES the vips. for him, sure he gets enjoyment of watching the games but he’s never found the need to bet on the players; if anything this further pushes the idea that humanity has lost it. because while others may view him continuing the game as psychopathic, he views it as demonstration to people

nsfw headcannons

★ as the frontman, he doesn’t really have someone that can please him. most of the time when he’s pent up, he’ll just use his hand and his imagination to get off

★ as the frontman, he likes to keep his sexual activities in private. but as a player, since he believes he has some sort of superiority over the others he wouldn’t mind fucking in public; not obnoxiously of course, but with the confidence, courage and no shame. late night sex with him would be so good, but since gi-hun suggests watch shifts it would be harder to actually participate in it (season 2 bathroom scene w/ the frontman when?!)

★ he doesn’t really like watching you ride him. he believes it gives you too much control. he wants to have all control over your pleasure; like whether or not you cum, how many times you cum, ect

★ he’d definitely make a sex tape with you if you were okay with it - but only when he’s not playing the games, so either after the revolt or if he’d never entered the games altogether. he’s the type to burn your sex tape on dvd’s. watching them on a video recorder or a mobile device is too tacky for him

★ he likes it when you whine for him; especially if you’re shy in bed. he’d go all gentle in the beginning, saying stuff like “come on sweetheart, you gotta tell me what you want” and “look at my beautiful sweetheart, so needy for me.” and when he’s finally inside you, he does degrade you, but it’s usually a mix of both praise and degradation

the end! i hope you enjoyed <3!

© cheetabites. don’t translate, claim or repost my works on any platform. jan 4 2025.

[the-s1lly-corner]

Wearing their merch (FNAF SB) (part 1/2)

Huuuuuge brain blast while I was writing a fic for sun oooough I am about to get so silly!! Split this into two posts because I don't have the mental strength to make long long posts

Characters: freddy, chica, roxy, monty

Notes: reader is gn, human reader, short post because admin is still not used to writing the glamrocks <3 im more of a DCA writer TToTT

CWs: none

FREDDY

he doesnt let it get to him... or at least he tries not to! but when you clock into your shift ricking lightning earrings hes going to feel a certain way! its almost a prideful feeling!

and they look so nice on you! hes going to let you know that they suit you well!

neither hurt or upset if you only wear them every now and then, its your choice after all!

may get matching earrings! or or or GASP! You give him one of yours and you keep the other! something about it makes him feel soft inside!

CHICA

you cannot tell me that they wouldnt market her bow or leg warmers- or hell even her earrings! but... freddy already for the earring thing... so leg warmers it is!

you clock into work wearing them on a colder day and shes immediately at your side, telling you how stylish you look! you... cant tell if shes being sincere or teasing you... maybe both?

even if they dont fully match with your uniform shes going to be pleased! will think about it for a while... may giggle to herself when shes alone in her room long after youve left to go home

you bought something themed around her and wore it, how can she not?

MONTY

they sell his sunglasses in the shops! so you go ahead and snag yourself a pair to wear during your shift! its... not the best idea to wear shades inside and you kind of look like a douche to some people... but damnit is it not fun!

half hearted vaguely amused snort from his nose when he sees you, tells you you look good in them... but why wear fakes if you can have the real thing?

lets you wear his own shades just to try them... theyre... only slightly more durable and higher quality, but you keep that part to yourself

if youre going to mimic him you better be able to emulate his attitude, this is more of a side headcanon but hes definitely going to try to get you to act tougher if youre a bit softer....

ROXY

a headband with her wolf ears on them! she thinks it looks a little tacky but you get a pass.... for now...! will let you know that there are better options- perhaps a jacket or... oh youre deadset on the headband...

snaps her jaws shut when you tell her you picked the ears specifically because you think theyre cute- you... think her ears are cute by extension, right?

just know her tail is swaying behind her as she tells you that you made a good pick choosing her merch!

....even if she tries to act like its not that big of a deal... i mean dozens of people come in wearing something roxy themed but she tooooooootally doesnt think about it later

[loserlvrss]

I JUST WANNA START A 𝐅𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 BOY! ───── SICK OF YOU BEING POLITE, BOY 𓂃. 보이넥스트도어이한

req?oui , , it was a harmless prank, what could go wrong?

𝐅.reader one shot ⓘ suggestive & toxic 1406THOU 四月 ꒰ BUT SOMETIMES ( i miss you )

You don’t know why you were doing this. Even as you applied the black, green and blue makeup, you couldn’t think of a valid reason. Yet, here you were, sat on your couch scrolling through your phone, just awaiting the opportunity to prank your sweet, unsuspecting boyfriend.

Maybe he’d gotten too comfortable in your relationship. Hell, you used whatever excuse to try and justify it. But, the truth is, you wanted to see if he had it in him to get mad at you. He was so damn peaceful all the time—you loved that about him, really—nonetheless, deep down, your heart raced with the thought; the anticipation when he’d finally catch a glimpse of your artwork that he’d deem someone else’s.

This was fun.

You knew it’d work. You’ve never let Donghyun purposefully leave marks on your skin, not because it didn’t feel good to have him kiss you but, simply because you’ve always found them tacky and a hassle to cover up. You’d wasted so much makeup in the past trying to do so, so whenever he’d come close to leaving purple patches, you’d tell him to stop. He’d even tried to bargain by saying he'd just leave them in places only he could see but, you still refused.

Especially if you couldn’t return the favor.

You knew this was an evil way to push his buttons, that you oh-so-desperately wanted to see pushed. It was selfish, really, however at this moment in time the plan was already set into action. You wanted to start a fight, just to see if he could.

He’s never gotten mad at you. He’s never yelled at you. He’s never dared put a hand on you. And, that was a dream but, somewhere deep down, you knew it was also just as boring as it was desirable. You wanted him to yell at you, tell you what to do—at least once—manhandle you, throw you around a bit, pull your hair, grip your skin...anything.

You wanted so much, and maybe this wasn’t the right way to propose it but, it didn’t matter anymore as his voice broke through the silenced air.

“What’s that?”

“What’s what?” You asked, acting oblivious as you scrolled through Twitter and Instagram in turn.

He shrugged, and you don’t know if it was the fact that he seemingly didn’t care, or if it was that maybe he just brushed it under the rug as anything else, that began to piss you off.

Nonetheless, you decided you were in it for the long run. After all, you wanted to see if he’d start the fight. It was game you wouldn't lose.

And, throughout the rest of the afternoon you’d catch Donghyun staring in your direction, shifting his gaze when you’d make eye-contact. He kept a calm demeanor, never asking again what the purple marks on your neck were. He’d even hugged you before he left for practice, getting all up close and personal with the artwork.

You were finding it hard to believe he hadn’t actually noticed.

Maybe he was gathering his thoughts. Maybe he was trying to decided why you didn’t smell like another man—why he knew you wouldn’t do that to him. Maybe as much as his buttons were pushed, this was it for his stemmed anger. Maybe dance practice was his way to relieve the stress you caused from time-to-time. Maybe the cool, calm and collected Donghyun was the only version of your otherwise, smiley, boyfriend.

Maybe you were beginning to feel bad because you had no idea the feelings he had towards this prank. Did it upset him? You wouldn’t be none-the-wiser to it if it had. He was good at shielding emotions, and maybe that’s where you needed to draw the line. Maybe that’s where your conversation should’ve began, instead of whatever the Hell TikTok had inspired you to do.

You kept looking at the clock on your home screen, counting down the minutes until he’d come back to you. And, just as you had decided to end the prank, opting for a civil—adult-ish—confession of wrong-doings, a text illuminated your dark screen.

It read: We need to talk.

Yet, you couldn’t decipher the hidden meaning. Of course, you knew what it was about, that’s the only thing that’s been wrong throughout the last few months between you two. What else could it be? And why, now that you were finally getting what you wanted, didn’t it feel good?

You didn’t answer him, partially because you didn’t know what to say; it was a prank. I just wanted to see if you’d get mad at me. I’m so bored of this. Nothing seemed correct, or frankly, truthful.

You also knew that he wasn’t far. He wouldn’t have texted you otherwise, just to torture you—though it would’ve been deserved. So, you waited by the door for your boyfriend to get back, the thought of washing away the eyeshadow long gone.

Then, it finally opened with the pattern of your key code. The air became thick and you found it hard to swallow with a lump in your throat. Were you sorry? yes. Did you feel bad for being immature? yes. Was a tiny part of you still curious to see how this would play out?

Yes.

"Y/n," Was the first, and only thing he muttered for a couple of excruciatingly long minutes. You watched anxiously as he put his bag down, eyed him as he took his shoes off, and almost burst when he ran a hand through his hair. Maybe Donghyun was able to torture you, even if unintended.

His eyes finally met yours but then they drifted to your neck, and further to your collarbone. He knew. He's known since the first question left his lips hours and hours ago.

"What's that?" His arms snaked between each other, and you found it wrong to think it was hot but, you very much did.

Almost like deja vu, the same feeling crept up from down within you. "What's what?" You reenacted.

Although, this time, he didn't let it go.

Donghyun approached you quickly, too fast to get away before you were sandwiched between the plaster and his body.

His hands were slow with movements. Those oh-so-stupid-fucking-hands that had you, literally, at his fingertips. One forcing your head by your jaw to expose your neck, while the other brushed away the hair that disguised the marks from his view.

You fronted being indifferent but, truth be told, if he wasn't holding you up your knees would have buckled already, leaving you as a mess on the floor in front of him.

"You must think I don't know you," He voiced, holding eye-contact as he pushed his thumb between your lips, gathering just enough saliva to then press the digit to your neck and swipe. And, it smudged with enough force, despite being labeled as waterproof. "Tell me why you felt the need to paint these on. I couldn't think of one good reason all day, princess."

And, the nickname he always called you—innocently and less than—had your heart in absolute shambles; the anticipation was just as good as if he'd raised his voice, you thought.

Maybe your vanilla-scented boyfriend had finally gotten the hint that you wanted more, despite going about it in a less than thoughtful way. And, maybe you realized that you didn't hate that he was always nice, no you loved that about him but, sometimes it was okay if he wanted to be a little bit meaner with you. After all, he could always say my...anything he wanted, and that would still mean that he saw you as his forever only.

"I-I," You couldn't think straight when he attached his lips over the previously (fakely) marked spots. His breath was hot, lips gentle then firm as he sucked against the spots he knew you'd rarely let him have his way with. "I—uh, fuck. Leehan,"

His voice was low against the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine and a whimper up your throat, "If you wanted something, you could've just asked me, baby. I'd give you anything."

The eyes that you've grown comfortable with always seemed to be there despite the firm placement he had you in. You knew he loved you more than anything, so you knew his words were true. And, his demeanor broke when he kissed your lips, almost giving you whiplash.

His palms laid flat against your cheeks, thumbs rubbing sweetly, "If you wanted everyone to know that you're mine, let me do it myself."

© loserlvrss 2024 / 25. 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱. @kstrucknet @whyilovewhales-pdf @lynnimini @gluion @greentulip @mystarsohee @seomisaho @jihyokat @atzlordz @riqomi | fill out form to be added. 

[moonstruckme]

Hey girl 💖 Would love a comfort fic with James or poly!Marauders after r had a really bad day? Just cuddles and comforting words. Sure most of us need it right now 💖

Thanks for requesting my love <3 I did try to make this seem like it could just be about any bad day but for my US babes and anyone else that's going to be affected by the election, I really hope you're doing okay and I hope we're all okay over the next few years. Even if we don't all have a James to comfort us, we can still be there for each other <3

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 607 words

You’re in bed when James finishes brushing his teeth. He can see your shoulders shaking underneath the covers. 

His chest aches as he goes to you. It’s not the first time you’ve cried today and it probably won’t be the last for a while, all your hurt and anger and grief compounding on you as time goes on. James gets into bed and twines his arms around your middle. He presses his nose into your warm cheek. 

“It’s going to be okay,” he murmurs. 

Your sobs worsen, and you turn, face to his chest and arms reaching around him with an unthinking neediness. You don’t believe him. 

“It is.” He kisses the top of your head firmly, hugging you closer. You seem like you need a bit of solidity right now. “You’ll be alright, sweet girl. I’ve got you.” 

James lets you cry. Your sniffles grow thick, James’ chest under your face wet with tears and snot. He wonders if your head hurts from how much you’ve wept today, makes a mental note to get you some water in the morning if he can’t manage it tonight. Your whole body shakes with deep, aching sobs. 

“I’m sorry,” you say after a while, words jolting. “I can’t—I keep thinking in circles.” 

“Baby, it’s okay.” James rubs your back. He hates to see you upset, but he wouldn’t begrudge you it. You’ve had a day. As much as he wishes he never had to see you cry, he feels grateful that you’d do it with him. “It’s okay to be sad for a little while.” 

“I know. I know, but—” Another series of sobs jostles their way out of you, painful sounding. Your voice quiets to a tight whisper. “I just can’t stop.” 

James swallows the blockage in his own throat, making big, sweeping circles over your back. “Do you want a little distraction?” he offers. 

You nod into his chest. 

“Okay.” He thinks for a second. “Well, tomorrow, I thought we might go to the bookstore if you’re feeling up to it.” He pauses, waiting to see if this is what you want. When you don’t make a sound he continues. “We could make a day of it. There’s that Thai place you like nearby, so maybe we grab some takeaway, sit and read in the park…” You make a snuffling sound against his chest, and James gives you a squeeze. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” Your voice is stuffy and sad, but calmer. “That sounds nice.” 

“I glanced at the weather report earlier.” He drops a kiss on your head. It coaxes you into looking up at him. Your eyes are wet and puffy, but James smiles at you, pinching your nose clean gently. “It’s supposed to be nice out. We’ll probably need our coats, but still, not too bad. You could break out those new socks you got.” 

You smile wobbily. “It feels like sort of a silly thing to be excited about now,” you say softly, “socks.” 

“That’s what I love about you, though.” James holds your face and gives in to kissing wherever the urge strikes him, your skin warm and tacky. “You’re always finding things to be excited about, that make you happy. I love that. It’s the little things, right?” 

You sniffle. You’re far from happy now, but you’re settling. “I guess.” 

“It’s nice when it’s the big things too, of course,” he concedes, “but for tomorrow I can still get my girl a book and a takeaway. Right? Okay?” 

“Yeah.” You kiss him, salt on both of your lips. “Yeah, okay. Thanks, Jamie.” 

“You’ll be okay,” he promises you again. “I’ve always got you.”